advice again. That I could cry against his shirt.
But I couldn’t.
Because my father was dead.
It occurred to me on Sunday that Heath had to know my father had died. He hadn’t asked me about him. Only my mother. He’d been close enough to my dad, had liked him genuinely. My father had felt the same way about him, despite his advice to me. He had liked Heath well enough as a person, he just hadn’t necessarily loved Heath with his daughter.
So Heath would have asked, I was sure of it, if he thought my dad was alive. He must know that eighteen months earlier my dad had a heart attack. The question was how.
I slept late, my head still pounding when I woke up, my sinuses swollen. I might not have even woken up when I did if Ethan hadn’t called. We had a groggy five minute conversation where I said “Uh huh,” a lot and yawned repeatedly.
“Go back to sleep, baby,” he said finally, sounding amused. “I’ll call you later.”
“No, it’s fine,” I protested, trying to sit up. I had water somewhere. “It’s almost noon. I need to get up.”
“What do you have going on today?”
Shit. Only meeting my ex-boyfriend at his apartment. “Nothing, just studying. I have that econ midterm this week.” I yawned again.
“You sound so cute and sleepy I want to kiss your face.”
“I look like shit. I think I’m getting a cold.”
“Aw, that sucks. Do you want to skip dinner with my parents then? I can just come over to your place and we can hang out tonight.”
Right. Dinner with his parents to tell them about our engagement. I was so not up for that. “Yeah, maybe that would be better next weekend. I don’t want to look all glum when we’re telling them our good news.”
He laughed. “Probably not something that will instill confidence in them, no. Okay, I’ll call my mom.”
“I’m sorry.” I leaned against my wall, feeling guilty.
“Don’t worry about it. You can’t time a virus. I’ll call you later. I can’t wait to see you and my ring on your finger.”
Absently, I glanced down at my finger. Dang it, where was the ring? I’d taken it off the night before, worried it would pop off during sleeping, but now I couldn’t remember where I’d put it. Glancing around, I spotted it on my nightstand. Thank God. I gave an audible sigh. “I can’t wait to see you too,” I said, voice hoarse.
After we hung up, I found my water bottle and sucked half of it down. Then I called Tiffany. That September, after Heath left, she and I had developed a quiet friendship. We’d both been bruised emotionally and I had felt guilty over snapping at her. She’d inspired protectiveness in me, and it had been humbling to realize that while I didn’t have a perfect life, I still had it pretty damn good compared to a lot of kids, Tiffany included. She’d been bounced from one crappy situation to another after being abandoned by her mother.
She’d stayed with us eighteen months until her grandmother had requested custody and during that time we’d gotten close enough that I’d kept in touch. She was still only seventeen but she was wise beyond her years.
And she was the only person I was in touch with who knew the truth about my past.
“Guess who I saw?” I asked her after we exchanged greetings.
“Beyonce.”
“Beyonce? No.” I rolled my eyes. Because Beyonce would be hanging out in Orono, Maine. “Heath.”
“What? Where did you see him?”
“At the fraternity Homecoming dance.” I debriefed her, skipping the whole marriage proposal thing for the moment. That was a whole different topic.
“That’s totally random. He said he’s been in the Marines?”
“Yes. I’m meeting him later.”
There was a pause. “You sure you want to do that?”
No. “Yes. Why, you don’t think I should?”
“All I know is that I was only living with you for three weeks while he was still there and in that three weeks the two of you didn’t even know anyone else existed. You were obsessed with
Learning to Kill: Stories